Steele On The Cutting Room Floor
by RSteele82
Summary: (a STEAMy Story). Alright all the Doey10's out there, this one is for you. Given Gleason's vow we'd never see Laura and Remington horizontal, what delightful shenanigans were axed from the episodes we saw and were left lying on the cutting room floor? We shall soon see!
1. Chapter 1: Mid Steele Searching Pt II

_**Michael Gleason once vowed the viewers would never get a glimpse of Remington and Laura 'horizontal' and boy, did he keep that promise, much to the dismay of fans. **_

_**Before the convoluted Season 5, we fans were given the distinct impression Laura and Remington had 'crossed that line,' what with their matching wardrobes, shared hotel rooms, announcements of being committed, etc.**_

_**So, given that vow of Gleason's, what exactly didn't make the cut? Just what scenes were left on the cutting room floor?**_

_**For the readers who ask for more, More, MORE steam, these are just for you. Sex and nothing... well little... else. These stories may or may not be tied to an episode, and are only intended to get your temperatures rising. **_

_**As always, I do not own the characters, I am only borrowing them.**_

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_**A/N: These stories will not update weekly but throughout the upcoming months, much like the Vignettes.**_

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Chapter 1: London

"I need you, Laura."

It was a bold confession on my part, for I meant it in a 'my life no longer makes sense to me without you in it' kind of way. But, as was so often the way between us, she'd misinterpreted my meaning and I had the distinct feeling what she'd derived from my admission was 'my hopes were dashed today and I need to connect with you in the most elemental of ways.' She'd always been particularly drawn to me, after all, during one of my rare bouts of vulnerability.

I prepared to correct her…

Then she had stepped close…

Threaded her fingers through my hair, tugging my head downwards…

And sealed her lips to mine.

My good intentions fell by the wayside. Not by design, mind you, but because all rational thought had fled. It had been too long since last I'd held her and savored the sweet flavor of her mouth. My hands gripped her miniscule waist quite of their own accord, as my heart raced and blood pounded.

I was lost...

And knew it.

With a quiet hum, I wrapped her in my arms and drew her close, currents of electricity coursing through my veins when she melded her pliant body mine.

An entirely different type of need consumed me then: The need that had been gnawing at me since first our eyes had met…

To know her…

To taste her…

To touch her…

To be touched…

To hear her soft gasps of pleasure…

To feel her writhing beneath me…

To feel myself surrounded by her warmth…

To be a part of her…

To make her…

_Mine…_

It took a great deal of fortitude on my part to attempt to put the brakes on.

We'd been down this road far too often, she and I, and I knew this encounter she was instigating would end with Laura racing out the door and me beneath the spray of a cold shower – or, even more humbling, providing myself with my own relief in those confines of tile and glass. Crossing the line into the bedroom had always been so… complicated… for us. It would require the type of commitment from me that I'd never offered a woman before and a bit of faith in me on her part to trust she wouldn't wake the morning after to find I'd gone with the wind. Needless to say, neither of those things were our strongest points… and both scared the hell out of us.

Then there was the timing. Taking that step at the wrong time would leave too many chances for regret and a door slamming close that might never reopen.

Such as now. No, the risk was too great.

My hands shook as I clutched her waist and tore my mouth from hers. I took a pair of steps back until my heel hit the wall behind me, placing distance between us. I'm sure I must have been a sight to behold, my chest rising and falling as it was, my breaths coming hard and fast, unsure of what to do with my hands now that they'd released her.

"Laura, I think—"

She closed in again.

My body trembled, much to my own mortification, as she drew her hands up my chest, then neck, and pressed up on her toes to kiss me again.

"No more thinking…" she murmured, against my lips.

Steadfastly, I kept my hands at my sides… at least for a handful of seconds, but when she tugged her sweater over her head and dropped it to the floor then reached for my belt, all restraint was lost. I'm not sure how or when we'd shed our clothes, but suddenly there we were, skin-to-skin and her with her back pressed against the wall, her legs wrapped around my hips and urging me on…

"Now…"

Never had I imagined our first time together would like this: Feral… desperate. I'd devoted years to fantasizing about when we first became lovers, imagining a slow seduction, filled with heady kisses, blood stirring caresses, and foreplay that would leave us quaking until at last our bodies joined. Oh, those fantasies had taken place in different locations – from Paris to Tahiti to the bedroom in my flat.

Well…

And, if I'm being honest, I'd daydreamed a time or two or fifty of having my way with her on my desk at the Agency.

But this?

No, never had it once crossed my mind.

We slowed only as long as she needed for her body to adjust to my presence, more at my insistence than hers. When the head of my shaft pierced her, I heard the hiss of a quick, shortly drawn breath and had felt her fingers dig into my back. She never said a word, but I understood in that singular response and the tightness of the flesh enveloping mine that it had been as long for her as it had been for me. As I rested my forehead upon her shoulder, battling fiercely for control, I couldn't help but feel a bit chuffed about that.

Perhaps, as it had been for me, simply no one else would do for her either – and _that _did this man's heart good.

Three more strokes, three more pauses, and we were overtaken by too long denied ardor once more. I pumped my hips without restraint, her hips meeting mine thrust-for-thrust as we kissed hard and deep, our teeth clashing every now and then. In no time at all, I found myself swallowing her cry of pleasure when her climax ripped through her, her back bowing, as her muscles clenched and spasmed around my shaft. The sensation was far more than I'd ever imagined or was prepared for, and my restraint failed me. I shouted my own release as her body took me over the edge of bliss with her.

With her still wrapped around my body, I managed to stumble to the bed and I fell back onto it, pillowing her against my chest. I can't say how long we kissed and caressed, not a word spoken between us, but I soon found myself prepared to nestle with her, to catch a quick kip and once restored, to make love to her quite properly – in the way I longed dreamt of doing.

Laura seemed to have other ideas, slapping a palm against her forehead then scrambling off me.

"Oh, God," she opined, "I forgot about Mildred. She'll be here any minute."

And grabbing her clothing from where it was scattered about on the floor, she vanished behind the bathroom door…


	2. Chapter 2: Pre Steele Blushing - Part 1

Chapter 2

Frankly, I was more than a little embarrassed.

I mean, I had… _jumped!_... the man and ripped his clothes off. I'd been…

Impulsive…

Aggressive…

Wanton…

And completely unable to stop myself.

I'd lived with a knot in the pit of my stomach since he'd disappeared into the night one-hundred-and-nine days before. Despite the condition I'd found him in – filthy and seriously injured – that knot had eased. He was there, I was there…

And _that look_ was there as well.

Wary.

Wounded.

The look had haunted me for four and a half months.

I'd lost his trust, that night, something I'd never even conceived was possible and by the time I'd found him, that hadn't changed. I'd seen the look that had flickered over his face when I'd found him hanging from that pulley: For a split second he'd questioned if I might turn him over to the bobbies hunting him.

It had been a knife, straight to my heart: Hot, sharp and piercing.

I'd spent three years keeping him safe… from everyone but myself.

He was not a man who trusted easily or freely, yet for some inexplicable reason, he'd gifted me his from the day we'd met. Gifted. And I'd taken it for granted.

He'd had no choice but to leave, I understood that now…

But still that knife twisted and dug in deeper and hadn't dislodged until he'd said those words to me…

"I need you."

The admission had been a bold one for a man who'd spent a lifetime avoiding ties to any place or anyone and it had healed something in me that had broken the night I'd arrived at his Rossmore condo to find his closets empty and him gone.

I needed him, too.

It had taken him leaving for me to understand just how much I did. My life no longer made sense without him.

All the reasons for keeping distance between us vanished and the longing for him that I'd battled for three long years, swelled up and swallowed me whole.

Without conscious thought I'd pounced.

Afterwards, when my passion muddled brain began to function again, mortification had set in and I fled to lock myself behind the bathroom door where I could soundly berate myself. I'd allowed myself to be _that Laura_ – the person I swore I'd never be again.

Impulsive…

Reckless…

Absurdly Passionate.

He'd tried to back away and I hadn't let him, pursuing him like some of the shameless bimbos that used to show up at the Agency.

What must he think of me?!

I couldn't help my smile. I mean, he hadn't exactly been a reluctant participant.

And it had been good…

_Really_ good.

I could only imagine what it would be like if we slowed things down.

Presuming, of course, that we'd have the chance. I didn't even know if he wanted to return to LA, I had only assumed.

By the time I exchanged places with him in the bathroom, my thoughts had become troubled. When he had emerged and flopped down on my bed, it hadn't required a detective to determine I was anxious given the way I couldn't stop fidgeting, much to my chagrin. Ever sensitive to my moods, he'd grown nervous, trying to figure out where my mind had gone – had, in fact, begun fishing around to see where that might be.

* * *

"_**Well, it seems to me, if our relationship is to continue, it will have to be here."**_

* * *

He had come back to LA, of course and we fell comfortably into old travel habits, working on a crossword together, talking, me reading while he indulged himself in an in-flight movie and napping during a small portion of the trip. Periodically, I'd feel his eyes upon me, studying me, but when I'd turn in his direction, he'd have already shifted his attention elsewhere. But, when Fred had pulled up before my building, he abandoned all pretenses, tipping back my chin as he was prone to doing and scrutinizing both my face and eyes. I don't know what it was he found, but he'd nodded his head a single time as though he'd reached some conclusion, then had departed after a chaste brush of his lips against my cheek.

We slowly waded back into the waters of our lives. I'd found it considerably more difficult than I had imagined it would be to return to the apartment where I'd arrived one evening in May to find I'd finally discovered the one thing that would make him leave. Once again, I was forced to acknowledge how well the man knew me, reminding me with purpose of the other times we'd spent here: We danced together on the terrace and in the living room; we sipped on wine before the flames of the fire; and he'd plied me with food cooked by his two hands.

And when that didn't work? Something else he was skilled at: Distraction.

For a week, I'd listened to an endless litany of the inconveniences he'd faced upon returning home after such a long absence.

The entire flat needed a thorough cleaning…

The fridge and cabinets required a complete restocking…

His wine selection was woefully inadequate…

His clothing had come out of storage smelling musty and he'd had to cart it all off to the dry cleaners to restore it to his finicky standards…

The Auburn hadn't been started or driven in more than four months and he'd taken it to the shop to be pampered, all the while lamenting…

"Really, Laura, how hard can it be to turn a key on occasion?"

And through it all, he'd made it a point to return to another piece of familiar ground: Him, waiting patiently, as I sorted out my feelings and thoughts.

We'd been home for eight days, when a storm had rolled through LA and thunder had rumbled while cracks of lighting lit the night sky, highlighting the torrents of rain washing the city clean. The weather outside brought back the memories of another such night a couple years before.

* * *

"_**I'm here."**_

* * *

Lying on opposite sides of the couch in his living room with a movie playing on the television he absently massaged one of my feet, his eyes fixed on the show. I studied him at length.

He was here...

And unlike the way I'd brushed it off two years before, this time I gave that fact considerable weight.

"It was storming like this the night after Veckmer blew up my house," I commented, drawing his full attention away from his movie and to me.

"Mmm, yes, I recall." He looked at me in that way he's always been inclined to do: As though I'm the only thing of interest to him in the room. Drawing my foot from his hand, I sat up, cutting the distance between us by more than half.

"Do you remember how that evening ended?" He'd turned me down and then had tucked me into bed on the sofa.

"As if I could forget," he replied quickly, his eyes narrowing further on my face - searching my face for clues, much as he had the night we'd returned. Normally, I'm very good at concealing those 'tells' he is seeking. Tonight, I don't bother to try. I want him to understand the not only the full impact of the words I'm about to impart but that I am utterly confident in my decision.

"Tonight," I began pointedly, "If you were to ask—"

This time, it was he who pounced...

And before I knew it, he'd left the couch and had swung me up into his arms.

"It's about bloody well time."

Surprised by the sudden movement, delighted by his impertinent response and the relief with which he'd said the words, a laugh escaped me as he carried me towards the bedroom...

(TBC)


	3. Chapter 3: Pre Steele Blushing - part 2

Chapter 3: It'll Take A While

There, in that London hotel room, when I'd backed away from Laura in an attempt to end things before they went too far, my restraint wasn't snapped because of her hands caressing me, or the kiss she'd bestowed on me.

It had failed because I'd finally seen all of her…

And I don't mean in her all-together.

For the first time in our association, her eyes were bright and clear. The intelligent, curious, quick witted and compassionate woman that had entranced me from the start was still there, but gone were all the fear, insecurities and doubts that normally plagued her, replaced instead by the daring, confident and passionate woman I'd only seen brief glances of over the years.

Those damnable walls that she hid behind were gone, leaving only the remarkable woman that she is looking up at me as she'd shed her sweater then had reached for my belt.

It felt I'd waited a lifetime for her…

And I was lost…

I'd known as soon as Laura had stepped out of the bathroom.

Those beautiful brown eyes had been clouded with self-doubt and self-flagellation, and her cheeks were pinked with embarrassment. No doubt she'd spent her time in the bathroom berating herself, chastising herself for being weak, careless, too impulsive. That she'd fidgeted and had been unable to look at me after I had dressed and stretched out on the bed behind her?

Well, when she'd behaved as such in the past, it had never gone well for me and _that_ left my nerves atwitter.

But I had counted it to my favor that at least she hadn't run and hidden herself away. She'd made it possible for me to come home, and in the days since, while she hadn't dragged me off to the bedroom, she'd still spent the majority of her time with me, first at work, then at my flat after hours.

And I'd simply done what I'd become proficient at: I'd waited her out.

Have I said thank God already? Eight days! She'd like to a kill a man.

But here we are…

She seems confused when I stand her on her feet instead of flinging her on the bed and ravishing her. The idea that she might be tickles me, so I cup her cheeks in my hands and draw her lips to mine for brief, but tantalizing kiss, that promises more to come. I toe off my shoes, then position my back against the center of the headboard. Tugging my shirt from beneath the waistband of my jeans, I release the buttons then let it fall open before holding out my hand to her.

She cocks her head slightly to the side and a smile flirts with her lips. She isn't quite sure what I'm up to, but she'll allow it to play out… until it no longer amuses her to do so. Toeing off her tennis shoes, she takes my hand and allows me to guide her to sit between my legs.

Tonight, we'll be doing this my way, whether Laura realizes it or not…

Much as I had done my own, I draw her shirt out from beneath the waistband of her skirt, unbutton it as she looks down and watches, then allowed it to hang open. Then, shifting slightly behind her, I tip back her head until those brown eyes meet with mine.

"This is going to take a while," I forewarn with a lift of my brows, while stroking the long column of her neck. Her brows lift, mimicking me and she regards with a smile and a pair of clear, confident and daring eyes.

"I was beginning to get an inkling." The remark, the amusement in her voice is so typically Laura that I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face…

Then I lean in and kiss her.

My entire being shimmers and that feeling I've at last found where I belong sets my soul to rest, as has been the way since first our lips met and if the way her hand clutches my arm is any indication, it is the same for her. I deepen the kiss, indulging myself in her sweet flavor, relishing the fullness of her lips.

It's time for us to put an end to this pretty little dance we've done these last years, as amusing – and often frustrating – as it has been. We love each other, even if we've yet to speak those words. It's why I've waited her out all these years and it's why I left.

I have to believe it's why she came to find me in London, as well.

It was well past time – at least in my eyes – to move this relationship of ours forward and see where it might take us.

With a final kiss to her lips, I trail my lips across her cheek, then down the long column of her neck, as I try to decide where to begin. It seems I have a lifetime of fantasies of how I'd make love to her stored up, each of them starting in different ways. But when my eyes fall on those dapples of freckles scattered across her shoulders that have long provided fodder for my imagination the decision is made. I was denied the opportunity in London to give each of those fetching marks their due attention, but I would be doing precisely that now.

Slowly, I lower her shirt over her shoulders saying a silent prayer of thanks she isn't garbed in one of those sexy little teddies she favors. As tantalizing as they are to look at, I want nothing more than open access to her flesh this evening, and the lacy little bra she's opted for, provides exactly that.

Bowing my head, I press my lips against the first of those sprinkles of colors.

"Ah, Laura, you've no idea how many fantasies these lovely freckles have inspired," I murmur. I draw the tip of my tongue along her shoulder then blow against the wetness and watch with satisfaction as goosebumps scatter across her skin.

"Is that so?" she asks, breathily, drawing another smile from me.

"Mmm," I hum, suckling the tender skin at the base of her neck, then brushing lightly over the slightly reddened area with my thumb. "Endless…" I scatter a string of kisses over the cinnamon sugar dappled flesh "…fantasies." I lightly nip her earlobe then draw it into my mouth. If her swift inhale and the way she presses against me is any indication, I've found one of her pleasure points.

Which means my mouth slips away, of course. I do so enjoy teasing Laura. Her frustration draws a quiet chuckle from my throat as she shrugs out of her shirt, growing impatient. I draw her into a kiss meant to distract, but Laura has ideas of her own, twisting in my arms until she sits on my lap, cradling the growing bulge in my jeans between the apex of her legs.

The sensation nearly makes my eyes cross.

But, two can play at that game. With deft fingers, I release the hooks of her bra as we continue to kiss. Brushing aside the straps so the garment falls down her arms, I press a hand to her lower back forcing her to rise slightly, and I capture the peak of a breast between my lips and give it a gentle tug. With a gasp, her back arches and she buries her hands in my hair holding my mouth to her as, instinctively, she thrusts her hips against mine.

This was a pleasure I'd missed in London. We'd waited so long that our joining had been frantic, and I hadn't had the time to truly learn her curves, how she preferred to be touched… to acquaint myself with her small but exquisitely sensitive breasts. I did so now, at my leisure. With one arm around her hips holding her firmly against me, I put my free hand to good use to play with a breast - rolling a nipple, tweaking it, teasing it, discovering what draws small moans from deep within her throat - while my mouth dances attendance on the other. It's not long before she's breathing heavily and the fingers of the hands she's slipped beneath my shirt are flexing into the back of my shoulders.

I thrust my hips, hard, a handful of times and that's all it takes.

She throws her head back, cries out and her body trembles in my arms.

I'm enraptured by how uninhibited she is as she climaxes. She's not a screamer by any means, not Laura, but she neither attempts to conceal from my eyes the bliss I've brought her nor tries to smother her moans of pleasure.

Pleasure created by my hand, just for her.

When the last tremor leaves her body, I tangle my hands in her hair and draw her head down for tender, lingering kiss. I'm overwhelmed by the sudden sense of contentment that fills me.

Nothing in my life before this, except for meeting Laura, has ever felt so right.

And like a man deprived of sunlight for too long, I needed to bask further in her warmth.

In a fluid movement – my lips never leaving hers – I fold us over until she's cradled beneath me, her flesh pressed to mine…

(TBC)

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_A/N: Yup, I really am so perverse that I'm leaving it here for now. Let your imaginations run wild._


	4. Chapter 4: Pre Steele Blushing - Part 3

_**A/N: Hope it was worth the wait...**_

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Chapter 4

It takes my brain a minute to kick in after what was easily one of the top five orgasms of my life.

No, seriously.

By the time I'm able to think, I find myself on my back, his long, lean body stretched out over mine. Well, sort of, since he's holding most of his weight on his arms. Even in bed he is the consummate gentleman.

The thought amuses me and I smile against his lips.

Too bad that's not what I want. I have spent years imagining the feeling of his weight pressing me into the mattress as my hands discovered the flesh I'd denied myself for so long. And right now, I'm not getting either of those things, in part due to his worry he'll crush me and in part because his shirt keeps getting in the way of my seeking hands. Impatiently, I try to tug it over his shoulders.

He gets the hint, shifting his weight first to his right arm, then his left to release the buttons on his cuffs. I take advantage of his position, drawing my hands up his chest, then back down. As he shrugs out of his shirt, I push up on an elbow and press my lips to the crook of his neck. He stills, his eyes close and I watch goosebumps scatter across his skin.

It's gratifying to know he's as affected by my tokens of affection as I am by his.

This time, when he drops his shirt to the floor, he's not as mindful of his weight on me and the look in his eyes as he leans in to kiss me both thrills and terrifies. I want so badly to believe what I see there is true, but at the same time if it is, I worry I might just bolt for the door. Our relationship is not without its complications and—

_Oh God_.

I've checked out just long enough that his hand is on the move without me realizing it, but when his palm cups my breast and he brushes his thumb over the aching nipple, every synapse fires at once. My back arches of its own accord, my body wanting, begging for more. With a final kiss brushed against my lips, he's on the move.

_Thank God_.

Much as he can't travel in a straight line out of bed, I discover he makes his detours in bed as well, but these are oh-so-rewarding. I want his hands, his mouth on my breasts but the things he is doing to my neck with his mouth and lips make me want to squirm – an impulse I fight against… Although I can't stop my hands from stroking his shoulders or running through his hair.

Thoroughly distracted, I'm surprised to find his lips against mine again.

_Wait! What? No, south! Go south!_

_Damn it!_

The man can kiss. In no time, my toes are curling and I've wrapped my arms around him, grateful when he momentarily forgets those manners and his full weight rests against me. It's even more than I imagined it would be, and I hold him more firmly to keep him here.

Then he ends the kiss…

Tilting his head back to look at me, I spy the wicked gleam in his eyes in the instant before he shifts away.

_Oh God…_

I'd halfway hoped he hadn't realized he'd found one of my weaknesses earlier, but when he draws the lobe of my ear into his mouth to suckle, to nibble, that hope is quickly dashed.

_Damn…_

My body quakes, my breaths have grown shallow and my hands clutch his back. Instinctively… helplessly… I grind my hips against his.

His teeth release the lobe of my ear and he sucks in a swift breath while quickly shifting his hips so I can't do that again.

I can't help the small laugh that passes my lips. I'm feeling a bit self-satisfied that—

"Oh, God."

His head jerks upwards and this time, he is the smug one.

_Damn it! I'd said that aloud._

He waggles his brows at me, drops a kiss on my nose, then bends down and suckles just beneath the hollow of my throat.

"Oh, God."

I close my eyes and crinkle my face. My tongue and body seem to have minds of their own suddenly: I can't stop the former from blurting out private thoughts and as for the latter?

I am definitely squirming now and am on the verge of turning into putty in his hands. Worse, he has ferreted out two of my secrets when I know none of his.

_Oh, God, but it feels so good._

It takes all of my concentration to pull a leg out from beneath him…

He blows his breath over the wet spot made by his mouth and goosebumps race across my skin.

_Oh God._

I hook my leg over his hip, plant my palms against his shoulders and flip him to his back. I've caught him off guard, and he laughs as he catches my hips in his hands and lowers me down just north of a very attractive bulge in his jeans.

I let him have his way… For now.

I drag my splayed hands from his stomach, up over his chest, then shoulders and watch as the laughter leaves his face. Tangling my fingers in his hair, I bend down and kiss him before I can think too much about the look that has replaced it.

I don't linger long. As much as I enjoy kissing him, I have other things on my mind. To that end, I cup one side of his face with my palm and my lips trail away from his. When my lips graze over his neck, his eyes close, he leans into my hand and he sighs, deeply.

I smile against his neck. Whether he'd admit it or not, he's a man that responds to a gentle touch – it calms his nerves and soothes his spirit. He relishes that touch… I would even go so far as to say he craves it.

The way his arms slowly wend around me to hold me lightly and a hand cradles the back of my head only lends support to that thought.

I pause in laying down a trail of supple kisses to tease the lobe of his ear with the tip of my tongue then blow on it. Granted I don't have nearly the experience of the man beneath me, but my limited history has shown this particular move to be an unfailing hit. Not so much as a flicker of a finger from him.

_Huh._

Undaunted, I press my lips just beneath his ear and _this_ has an unexpected reaction: The muscles of his stomach tighten, his fingers twitch and he draws in a sharp breath.

_Really?_

His reaction is interesting enough to warrant a repeat. I lean in, this time drawing his flesh into my mouth. His hand presses more firmly to the back of my head and he shifts, restlessly. A breath blown over that dampened spot makes him tremble and has him mumbling my name.

Emboldened I leave the spot to explore further, leaving not a millimeter of his bared skin untouched by either my lips or hands. From fingertips-to-shoulders, from jaw-to-waist, I caress, stroke and tease. I return often to kiss him.

He lays himself open bare to me, making no attempt to hide what my machinations are doing to him. He breathes my name often, holds me closer, draws me into another kiss.

He's by no means passive in his own rights. I am often left with shivers coursing down my spine, goosebumps scattering over my skin… my blood heating, as wide, splayed hands glide over my back and sides. His hand wanders to caress a breast, his fingers teasing my nipples then slips away to stroke the small of my back, my bottom.

I'm not sure when he unbuttoned my skirt and slid down the zipper, but it lies puddled at my hips.

The dazed, besotted look in his eyes makes me wonder if he's never been made love to. No, I don't mean sex, hopping in the sack or a quick shag, as he'd say. God knows he's done more than enough of that for three men. I mean been made love to by someone intent on showing him, in this most intimate of manners, just how much he matters to them. Somehow, I don't think he has been.

Or maybe it's just that it's me doing that showing.

I'd like to think so.

That ability to think has rapidly been overcome by other things, namely want and need.

To that end, after leaning down for another breath-stealing kiss, I scoot backwards until my bottom rests on his thighs. Our eyes connect and hold as I reach for his belt then he watches, avidly, as I unbuckle it, release the button to his jeans and tug the zipper down. I lean down and press my lips to a spot right above the waistband of his briefs, then – with a lick of my lips in anticipation – I release his erection from its confines.

And what a very nice one it is.

This is something I had missed during that first, frantic time. I'd never taken the time to slow things down, to get to know him, to learn the nuances of his body. I'm embarrassed, almost, to say I hadn't even registered that he was uncircumcised, a wholly new experience for me.

When I take his heavy shaft in hand, he flinches then grabs a fistful of the comforter beneath him. My eyes flicker to his face as I give his erection an experimental stroke. His eyes blink several times, as though unable to believe it's me holding him in hand, giving him pleasure. Well, if he finds that hard to believe, this will really blow his mind.

I want to taste him.

To that end, I shift further backwards, then with a bit of the devil in me, I give him a wicked little smile before bending forward. I run my tongue up the underside of his erection, then easing back the foreskin, swirl my tongue around the head before taking it in my mouth.

His body jerks.

He moans my name.

I set up a pattern of stroking him, licking him, suckling his cap that very quickly has him burying a hand in my hair, while staring down at me. I can tell by the look on his face that he is using a great deal of restraint, trying not to guide me but let me find my own rhythm.

He suddenly pushes himself up on an arm with hand braced to the bed and drags me upwards for a drugging kiss. Before I know what's happened, he's rolled us and I lie beneath him again. Surprised, I laugh against his lips…

And then he is gone, only reappear next to the bed where he stands skimming out his jeans and underwear. I, too, get out of bed, dropping my skirt and panties to the floor, then pull back comforter and sheet and climb back into bed, waiting for him to join me.

I was expecting for us to 'get right to it', but, of course, this is Mr. Steele and he veers left, stretching out beside me and reaching for my hand.

With a waggle of his brow, he lifts my hand upwards. When he kisses then nibbles on my wrist, my eyes widen. Electricity courses through my body, my blood heats again.

_My wrist?!_

Never had I imagined—

All thought ceases when he draws a splayed hand up my side and leans in to kiss me…


	5. Chapter 5: Pre Steele Blushing - Part 4

Chapter 5

Laura's fingers flex and her eyes widen as my mouth attends to her wrist. Few men realize the wrist is an erogenous zone and of those who do, even fewer are wise enough to use it to give pleasure to the one they're with. It's not a bit of knowledge I pull out often, as the act is an intimate one – at least in my eyes – and I've used great care not to convey any hope my assignations with other women would be seen as such.

But with Laura?

I want that intimacy with her more than all the riches in the world.

With fingers spread, I run my hand up her side, then palming her cheek in a hand, I lean in and kiss her.

We needed to slow things down if we wished to reach the finish line… I needed to slow things down. My restraint was already beginning to fail me when she'd taken my shaft in hand and had begun doing remarkable things.

_Ah, Laura. _

She is a truly remarkable woman, my Laura.

I'm intent on showing her exactly that, as she has already done me.

I start at her fingers, nibbling each tip, occasionally drawing a finger into my mouth as she watches then I dance a little more attendance on her wrist, grinning when she swiftly inhales and those fingers flex again. I drop a trail of kisses up her arm, pausing to suckle on the inside of her elbow, then continue my journey to her shoulder. My free hand glides over her side, strokes her stomach, caresses and teases her breasts.

As much as I'm enjoying myself, we're going to have to get this show on the road, so to speak, because I am on the verge of losing control. While I have been busy discovering the secrets her luscious little body gives up she hasn't forgotten me. Her fingers wend through the hair on my chest, brush over my shoulders, stroke my neck… when, that is, her hands aren't caressing my sides, my back, my bum. That it is Laura at last touching me, is enough to drive this man over the brink.

I detour briefly, needing a taste of her sweet lips then resume my journeys. I can't resist, of course, a brief stop at her ear to nibble the lobe, but then follow a trail of those tawny dapples of color until they lead me to a breast. I waste no time in drawing a pert nipple into my mouth, flicking my tongue against the tip then pulling firmly. When she moans and buries a hand in my hair, my hand skims southward…

She hums her approval and let her legs fall open, eagerly welcoming my hand. I shudder when I find her wet and more than ready for me. I draw a single finger along her heated flesh. She trembles at the sensation. Emboldened, I lean down and capture a nipple between my lips, while a finger zeroes in on her nub of pleasure. A little experimentation to find the touch that pleasures her most and soon another fantasy of mine is fulfilled: Laura writhing with desire, anticipating the ecstasy to come by my hand.

My thumb moves to that nub of pleasure and I slowly press a finger inside her. Her hips lift from the bed and a hand squeezes my upper arm in response. Smiling against the breast I am currently lavishing with my mouth, I stroke her inside in time with the out, finding the angle that makes her gasp.

I add a second finger. I steal a peek at her when her arms leave me and watch as they fall to the bed above her head. With her eyes closed and lips parted, her hips begin to thrust in time to my fingers.

I'm positively enthralled – and endlessly thankful for the flashes of lightning that illuminate the room allowing me to witness her rapture washing over her as her back bows and her head moves back and forth. I can't resist. My lips leave her breast to find hers.

The taste of her, the feeling of her body pulsing and quivering around my fingers…

Bliss, is the only word that comes to mind…

Maybe mixed with a bit of disbelief.

"Now…"

She whispers against my lips, while her arms wrap around me and urge me over top her. I shift, settling between her legs. Taking myself in hand, I position my shaft at her entrance then press forward before the last quiver from her climax has left her body.

Who am I to argue?

I tear my lips from hers, breathing hard. The sensation of her passage quaking around the head of my shaft is almost more than I can bear. What I want to do is bury myself in her in a single thrust and to allow her body to take me over the edge. I am that close, already, and need to compose myself.

When I feel some semblance of control return, I drop kisses along her collarbone as I withdraw then press further forward. One final thrust and I am buried to the hilt and am again struggling to maintain that control I had just found.

Resting my forehead against her shoulder, I pant while trying desperately to find it again….


	6. Chapter 6: Pre Steele Blushing - Concl

Chapter 6

I'm impossibly full of him and trembling with need.

This is a hell of a time for him to check out!

"Mr. Steele…"

What was meant to sound like a growl of displeasure is instead a breathy plea…

He lifts his head. A flash of lightning reveals his crooked little smile and a pair of blue eyes twinkling down at me. I've amused him.

_Damn it!_

"Yes, Miss Holt?"

I take some solace in the look of surprise on his face when his voice is as raspy as mine was wispy.

I grin up at him as another glow from another flash of lighting floods the room.

"Now's not the time for intermission…" I force a grumble into my tone.

His brows pinch together for an instant, then he laughs, appreciatively, at the theater reference.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he whispers as he slowly lowers his head and his lips find mine.

He reaches for my hands, weaving our fingers together as his hips pull back until only the head of his shaft still remains inside of me, then presses forward an inch. With each thrust, he moves a little deeper, teasing me. Planting my feet more firmly in the mattress, I tilt my hips until I find that angle where his shaft caresses my point of greatest pleasure with each stroke.

His fingers tighten around mine and he mumbles my name against my lips. If I were to guess, I'd say the angle of my hips enhanced his pleasure as well. But it's still not enough. With my hips still tilted, I wind my legs around his hips, holding him closer. His slow strokes remain the same, but now his shaft remains deep within me, hitting that spot with every motion.

I thrust my hips in time with his. I pull my hands away from his to caress, tease whatever flesh they can find. I feel his buttocks clench, the hand on my breast tremble. I know he is closer than I am.

"Laura…" he gasps.

Determined to take me with him, he bends down to tease my breasts with tongue, lips and teeth.

I hum my approval aloud. He looks up at me through his lashes, and our eyes meet and hold. I can feel the pressure of promised ecstasy building. Something he sees in my face has him give the peak of my breast already in his mouth a hard tug…

And that is all that takes.

My legs slip downward and wrap around his thighs. My back arches. My entire body quakes. I can feel my passage clenching around his shaft so powerfully that somewhere in my euphoria I wonder how it isn't painful to him.

He releases my hands as my orgasm nears its crescendo, and presses upward, arching his back, supporting extended arms on his hands, and thrusts three firm, deep times…

Then calls out my name, as he throws back his head, lost in his bliss.

That I can feel every quiver, every twitch of his shaft, prolongs my orgasm and my passage clamps down on him again.

He groans my name…

Then collapses on me, resting his arms above my head and finding my mouth with his. I expect the kiss to be fiery passion. It's anything but. His kisses are a long, slow series of those tender, toe-curling kisses that leave me dazed. Each time he pauses, he fingers my damp, curling tendrils of hair back from my face and stares at me in such a manner, that I find myself wondering if he is as content… and terrified… as I am in the aftermath.

This had been more than sex. Sex was London. This was…

I wend the fingers of one hand through his hair, while drawing my fingertips over his shoulder then down and up his back.

He shivers.

I've just experienced what was, hands-down, the most intense orgasm I've ever had. And I suspect it has far less to do with the man's assets – which are more than commendable – or skills (ditto the last) and far more to do with the look in his eyes.

Something has shifted irrevocably between us…

But what does that mean?

With a final kiss to first my lips, then my forehead, he pulls back his hips, leaving me, and rolls to his back, still breathing hard.

I find myself bereft at the loss of his presence within me…

And thoroughly confused.

I have no idea what to do, so I lay there, unmoving.

Does he want me to stay? That thought makes me even more confused than I already am. Should I flop over on my stomach and go to sleep, much as I would at home, alone, in my own bed? Or willl he want to cuddle?

The man I know would want that… I think. But the man I know he once was had extricated himself as quickly as possible after the act.

Should I leave? Just casually get up, tell him I enjoyed myself as I dressed, maybe we should do it again sometime? Actually, the thought of hiding away in my loft until I can sort through my jumbled thoughts holds an undeniable appeal.

Leaving, however, means the possibility of insulting him if he wishes for me to stay... and days of quips expressing his discontent, guised as humor, will follow. I can hear him now…

"No need to rush off, Laura…"

"A ledger calling your name?..."

"Hot date?..."

I wish, momentarily I had a ready excuse at hand to provide a hasty exit as I'd had in London.

I finally come to the conclusion I'd rather risk days of barbs than the humiliation of overstaying my welcome.

I sit up.

"Laura… don't go…"

Reminded of a night two years before, when the rain had fallen and the lightening had flashed, I freeze.

ABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCAB

"_**I'm here."**_

ABCABCABCBCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCBCABABBABCBCABC

I turn my head and look back at him over my shoulder as another flash of lightening brightens the room.

I see my own hopes and worries reflected in his eyes.

I'm not the only one confused about what just happened between us means.

But I do understand the invitation implied by the arm he holds out towards me.

Instead of turning towards the door, I turn to him. Pillowing my head beneath his shoulder when his arm wraps tightly around me, I lay my arm across his torso, and fling a leg over his thighs, then look up at him in the dim light of the room. Her reaches over and fingers my cheek, then uses a pair of fingers to tip my chin back a little further.

He presses a kiss to my lips then my forehead. Wriggling slightly beneath me, he finds a comfortable position, then I do the same against him.

That he wants me to stay is enough, for now.

I'm here. He's here.

It's a start…


	7. Chapter 7: Post Steele Blushing Pt 1

Post Steele Blushing Part 1

_Laura_

"Oh, the alumni are going to be delighted with this, aren't they?"

The man just can't help himself.

He has just spent the evening trying to make amends for his antics in the Veenhoff matter – first hiding the fact he knew 'my' picture was in _Bedside Babes_ and then that show he put on in the car.

That truly stomach turning show. I don't know if I will ever get that thought out of my head now – who some men are thinking of when they are…

You get the picture.

So did I. _That's the problem._

The dinner he made was delicious, as it always is and the wine chosen to accompany it was perfection. The coups de gras was the stacks of _Bedside Babes _we'd been burning the last hour. We both know, of course, it's a purely symbolic gesture, the burning of these magazines. Thousands have been distributed across the country, a reality that won't change.

And now, to have the audacity to say what he did while leering at what is presumably 'my' picture?

I can't stop the smile. Yanking the magazine from his hands I throw it in the fire then take a really good look at him, that cheeky smile of his never wavering.

He'll never change.

Thank God.

It's one of the things that I truly appreciate about him: His refusal to spend time worrying over things he can't change and finding the humor instead.

I want him, and make no pretense about it, first taking him to his back then stretching out on top of him. His grunt of surprise is followed by a groan of approval and I smile against his lips. As we settle in, one of his hands caresses my back, while the other does the same to my ass.

I wriggle against him.

This time it is he who smiles against _my_ mouth. We've come to know each other's bodies well this last week and he's pleased with himself for drawing the first reaction.

Sitting up, I tug his shirt out from beneath the waistband of his pants. His hands stroke my hips and his eyes never leave me as I release the buttons taking a detour here in there to caress his stomach and chest.I lean in and press my lips beneath his ear as I release the last, then shove at the shoulders of his jacket in hint. I stand, peeling off my suspenders as I do so, while he sits up and shakes out of his jacket and tosses it into a heap on the couch. Turning as I finish unbuttoning my blouse, I pick up his jacket and lay it neatly over the back of the couch.

He doesn't care about wrinkles now, but I'll be the one left listening to him lamenting them later.

I drop my shirt on the top of his jacket and hold out my hand for his shirt. In short order, my pants are dropped onto the pile and I prop a foot on the coffee table. Bending over, a roll down a knee-high sock.

"I—" Whatever he was about to say turns into a low cat call.

Ahhh, so he's finally realized what I'm wearing. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, naked hunger in his eyes.

The visit to Veenhoff's boudoir photography studio had made me uncomfortably aware that my drawers at home were filled mainly with practical, simple white cotton garments. It had been long enough that I'd forgotten what visual creatures most men were – Mr. Steele in particular. I'd gone shopping for intimate apparel this weekend and apparently the red silk and lace bra and panties I'm wearing really does it for him.

He's always had a thing for me in red.

"My, my, my. I approve of your modiste, Laura," he praises, with a throaty quality.

Switching legs, I turn my head to regard him as I remove the second piece of hosiery and drop it on the pile.

I smirk a little as I step to him and reach for his belt.

We both know I'll never admit I bought them for him.

"Straight to it then?" he wonders. I tilt my head slightly and purse my lips, considering the question, then this time visibly shrug my shoulders. One of his arms wends around my waist, his fingertips resting at the top of the curve of my ass, while his other hand skims up my side to cup my breast.

"I don't know," I admit, tossing his belt on the couch. "I guess we'll just have to see where the mood takes us." I draw in a sharp breath when he strokes the tip of my sensitive nipple with his thumb. There has always been a current between us, but there are times his touch is like pure electricity and this is one of them. Leaving the niceties behind, I hook my fingers in the waistband of his slacks and yank them down over his hips.

His laugh is one of pure, masculine pleasure.

He kicks off his pants, my eyes following them as they land in a heap on the floor.

To hell with the wrinkles. How much can the man complain about a single item of clothing? My bra finds the same fate, then his briefs and my panties. In no time, he is sitting cross-legged before the fire and I'm straddling his lap, exchanging a heated kiss with him.

I can't keep track of his hands.

_Where are his hands?_

Fingers tease the small of my back, the cleft of my ass… knead a cheek. Another hand strokes my waist before it skims over my flesh to caress my breast. His other hand is suddenly cupping the back of my neck, holding my lips firmly to his, his tongue teasing and dancing with mine. I flinch and my fingers flex against his scalp and flesh when he brushes his thumb feather-light over my nipple. I gasp against his lips and can feel him smile against my mine.

Then his mouth is on the move, doing incredible things to my neck as he works southward. A flattened hand laying pressure on the hand of the small of my back makes his destination clear and, rising slightly on my knees and arching my back, I encourage him to shorten his route. He looks up at me through his lashes in the moment before his lips latch over my nipple.

I don't even attempt to conceal the shiver of pleasure that crashes over me. I simply bury my hands in his hair and lean forward resting my chin against the top of his head.

Men like to claim they don't have a type, but they all do, including Mr. Steele. From the very start it was apparent his 'type' was tall, broad shouldered and wide hipped with large breasts. I, of course, am none of those things given my average height and dancer's frame. But if he had any complaints about my modest breasts, he'd never let on to me. God knew he was doing remarkable things to them right now – nibbling, sucking, blowing, teasing – driving me mad in the process.

I suspect the only thing that matters to him is that these particular breasts are mine

Now it is my hands doing the roaming. I drag my fingers down his back, over his subtly sculpted upper arms then shoulders. I stroke behind his ears, tease the ends of his hair, then draw my hands downwards over his arms again before veering to his chest. He inhales sharply against my breast and his embrace tightens.

I love the fact that he doesn't hide from me his reaction to my touch. That he doesn't, frees me to follow suit. So when he turns his mouth's attention to my other breast and slips a hand between my legs, his fingers testing and teasing, I moan a quiet approval and wrap my arms around his neck. My breaths turn shallow. I'm no less affected by his touch than he is by mine.

So lost in sensation am I, that it takes me a moment to compute his hand has slipped from between my legs, his mouth from my breast. Before I can grumble my disapproval, he is cupping my face and drawing my head back. Our eyes meet and I am thankful my pulse is already pounding and my breath is short – thanks to his ministrations – because his eyes are completely unguarded and what I believe I see them sends a shiver through my body…

The problem is, what I see in his eyes may terrify me more than thrill me. If I'm not imagining what it is I think I see, on the one hand, maybe all we've put each other through these last years was worth it to find ourselves in this place now…

But, on the other hand, if I'm right, what does that mean for us? Would this be it? Partner and lovers until one of us decides it no longer works? Would I mind if that was it? Do I want more? How can I answer that when I don't even know what, exactly, it is that I want?

A hand drawn through my hair, and the stroke of his thumb against my cheek, draws me from my thoughts. A smile twitches at a corner of his mouth, amused that he's caught me lost in my thoughts at a time like this.

But before I have a chance to become irritated with myself for the slip, he drags his hand through my hair again and with that same look still in his eyes, mumbles my name as he draws my head forward…

Melds his lips softly to mine…

Then retreats to assess my reaction. I watch that corner of his mouth twitch slightly upward again, then he slides his arm around my shoulders and, gathering me close, leans in to kiss me again.

Electricity shoots straight through me. Reflexively, I mimic his embrace with one arm while my hand glides over his shoulder and down his back. He kisses me slowly, softly, my toes curling even as warning signs flash in my head that things have suddenly taken on a very serious note and if I'm not careful I'll be besieged by questions for days, much as I'd been the last time he'd taken us down the path of slow, thorough love making…

And I'm already confused enough.

With some regret, I determine to turn the tides again. My hand streaks up his arm, over his shoulder then down his chest and stomach.

He gasps… flinches… when I take his erection in hand. Breathing short and heavy, he stares downward with a look of part surprise, part disbelief on his face. This time it is the corner of my mouth that twitches with a threatening smile.

I can hardly blame the man. There are times I still find it hard to believe we've finally made it past that line and it's not just another fantasy.

"Found the mood have you?" He pants the quip. This time, I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face.

Only him.

"Well, if you need another clue," I drawl with a lift of my brows…

Sinking down on his shaft in one smooth stroke, this time it is me who gasps and flinches but for wholly different reasons. In my eagerness to change the mood he spoke of, I've forgotten my body still needs time to adjust to his shaft's girth and length. I am not a woman who views pain as pleasure, and I drop my head against his shoulder, trying to will away the discomfort. He intuits on his own the reason and strokes my back and sides with splayed hands while scattering kisses from my shoulder towards my neck. When the discomfort recedes, I circle my hips. He draws in a swift breath against my neck and I feel the goosebumps that scatter over his flesh.

I circle my hips again.

An appreciative laugh rumbles low in his throat.

"Ahhh, Laura, I do love this side of you," he murmurs against my neck. His breath against a wet patch of skin does delicious things to me.

Restlessly, I rise slightly on my knees then sink back down.

Mmmm, much better.

I angle my hips slightly and raise myself,

I can't stop my soft groan when the head of his shaft caresses my G-spot.

"Oh, and what side is that?" I wonder, as I lower myself back down. He lays a palm on my cheek and sweeps a lock of hair over my shoulder, while wagging his brows at me.

"The impulsive… uninhibited… side," he whispers, emphasizing each word as he leans in and covers my lips with his.

My brows furrow unseen and I settle back on his lap.

Huh.

It had occurred to me last evening, as I'd lain alone in my bed waiting for sleep to come, my Mr. Steele was the proverbial sheep in wolf's clothing. I'd forgotten those sleep approaching, misty thoughts… until he reminded me now.

My lips slip away from his. Cupping the side of his face in one hand, I press a kiss beneath his ear then whisper…

"Not as much as you think…"

* * *

_**A/N: I will answer questions that have been recently **_**_asked on reviews and in private messages on To Have and To Holt. ~RSteele82_**


	8. Chapter 8: Post Steele Blushing Pt 2

_**A/N: Well, I had planned to publish this at the stroke of midnight to usher in a new year, but the site kept returning and 'invalid response' when I would try to publish eye roll. Things are looking up around here healthwise - some tweaks to meds have left me clear-headed and able to remember my name (little things that, who'd guess, are essential for writing). The Lyme titers have been eradicated. Now we await the answers for one very big test. In the meantime, Santa has brought me a spanking new computer - a very needed one. Turns out, if you can keep a thought in your head for more than two seconds and you have a computer that doesn't freeze every two seconds... well, all types of stories begin popping into your head.**_

_**I hope you and yours had a blessed and joyous holiday season and that the New Years holds great fortune for each of you.**_

_**Now, back to a little steam...**_

* * *

Post Steele Blushing Part 2

_Remington_

My lips still and my eyes pop open. My brows arch, unseen.

_Not as much as-_

I have the distinct feeling I've just put my foot in it, although I'm not precisely sure what that 'it' is. I consciously resume pressing kisses down the sensitive flesh of her neck as I consider my safest route.

Only Laura. Here I am holding her in my arms, not a stitch of clothing between us, my throbbing shaft is buried in her damp heat… and she honestly expects my brain to engage in sensible conversation. But we've been down this path many times, and somewhere in the back of my barely functioning brain I recognize a swift denial is called for.

"Whatever would make you say that?" I ask between touches of my lips to her flesh.

"Do you remember when I told you about the fan dance?" I can't help the chuckle of appreciation. As if I could forget.

"A bar in Acapulco with rather small fans, if I recall." I gently nip her at the curve of her neck. Reflexively, she grinds herself against me. My arms tighten around her of their own accord and I moan. She's toying with me. I know it. And she knows I know, which makes it all the more amusing for her to do so. I slide my hands over her back, then gently grip her waist. "Laura, do you think you could…" A dimple flashes in a cheek.

"Like this?" Her muscles tighten around my shaft, then she rises and falls slowly. I drop my head and rest my mouth against her shoulder as pure pleasure courses through me. I refuse to consider where Laura has learned these tricks – tricks that take sex to a new level.

"Yes," I approve in a single, long breath. She settles against me again.

"Soon," she promises. I groan my disapproval and she responds with a throaty laugh. "Still want to see that dance?" My mouth still resting against her shoulder, my brows shoot up.

There could be worst things to talk about when I'm in this position. My body's reaction is visceral as the image of Laura performing a seductive dance with only a pair of small fans to cover her traipses through my thoughts.

"More than Royal Lavulite," I answer as I lift my head and slide a hand around the back of her neck then draw her lips up to mine.

She's not the only one with a few tricks up her sleeve… or a fondness for teasing. She has no choice but to rise slightly to her knees and her fingers flex against my shoulders when my shaft pulls back. With a smile against her lips, my hand presses them more firmly to mine and I rest my weight on a single arm. I thrust my hips upwards and she moans against into my mouth while a hand slides from my shoulder to my chest. With the second thrust, her lips leave mine. The smug smile falls off my face when I see the smoky passion burning in her eyes.

The teasing is over…

Sitting up fully, I wrap her in my embrace. We kiss slowly as she begins to ride me. She'll take us close to that ultimate moment – adjusting the cadence and the tilt of her hips to give us both maximum pleasure - then I'll take over from there. Being in control when she's on top is a delightful aphrodisiac for her so I'm more than happy to oblige.

That it leaves me with both hands free is merely an added bonus.

With one arm encircling my neck, she rises and falls slowly over me, circling her hips every now and again. Her hand whispers over my side, her fingers tease my chest then her hand disappears only to reveal itself at the back of my neck. Her movements are sensual, her touches drugging… the expressions that cross her face mesmerizing. My hands roam, kneading the perfectly curved cheeks of her bum, tantalizing her breasts, caressing her sides, stroking her back. We kiss, frequently, initiated far often by myself than her. I simply can't resist, each time her pleasure glazed brown eyes fall on my face.

Perspiration beads our skin by the time her knees tighten against my hips and her rhythm falters. Her puff of frustration confirms she is close. Thank God. My failing restraint has left me shaking with the effort to hold off until she finds her pleasure. After another quick kiss, I wrap one arm around her waist then lean back on the other. I thrust my hips in the cadence she set until her breathing grows heavy and her hands slide up into my back before clenching my shoulders. I shorten my thrusts, pick up speed and with a moan she throws back her head, her body quakes and she is lost in her pleasure. A pair of short, sloppy thrusts later and I groan my bliss, our bodies quivering in unison.

I don't know how much time passes before the last wave of ecstasy wanes and Laura drops her forehead to my shoulder, trying to catch her breath and find her bearings. I fold our bodies over until she lays on her back on the floor and I am stretched out over her.

I have grown inordinately fond of those moments in the aftermath of our love making, when Laura's brown eyes are dazed, as though wondering still if this is real and if can truly be as good as it is.

_Yes, Laura, you're here with me and it really is that good…_

I tell her in my mind as I smile down at her and brush a couple of strands of hair away from her face. I can't fault her, given I'm often tempted to pinch myself to make certain this isn't another fantasy, another dream.

She whispers her fingertips down my back then up again. The simple touch has me leaning in for a kiss. When one of those hands threads itself through my hair, I know she is back with me and, with open eyes, I watch her as I drop kisses on the corner of her mouth, her cheek then brow. She smiles softly up at me, but instead of tender words she ruffs my hair with her fingers then presses a palm against my chest.

"I could use a drink. You?" I give her a quick kiss, then roll off her, chuckling. That's my Laura: Task at hand a wrap, time to move on to the next.

"As a matter of fact, I chilled what I hear is a delightful little Chardonnay," I tell her, my eyes fixed on her as she rises and crosses the room to where she'd laid our clothing, as comfortable in her skin as I. "It's from a vineyard in the Gavilan Mountain range, resting at the base of an extinct volcano." She draws on my shirt, rolls the sleeves, then fastens a single button before disappearing into the bedroom. "It's one of the few vineyards in the States growing grapes in limestone-based soils, much as they do in Burgundy." She reappears, carrying my burgundy silk robe and hands it to me. As I stand and slip it on, she retrieves the bottle of wine from the refrigerator and returns holding a pair of glasses and the corkscrew, setting the collection on the coffee table.

"There's a club downtown that I've heard good things about for years," she says, as she picks up our clothing from the couch as well as the clothing scattered about the floor.

"Oh?" My eyes flicker to her then I pick up the wine and corkscrew.

"It's not Pepe's but it should do." I nearly put the corkscrew through my hand. Surely she doesn't mean…

"For?" I call towards the bedroom. I count it to my favor that she is hanging our clothes as it is a good sign she'll be staying the night, but I can't assume.

"The fan dance," she calls back. I swallow hard, then muster a tone I hope sounds disappointed instead of panicked.

"I was rather hoping for a more… private… showing."

"Sorry, Mr. Steele. A dance like this needs a certain atmosphere." I nervously nibble at my thumb nail, suspecting I won't care at all for the answer to the question I am about to pose.

"Atmosphere?"

"The music, the lights, the energy," she answers with an air of excitement to her voice as she returns to the room and sits down near the stack of magazines, tucking her knockout legs beneath her. I hand her the cup of wine I've just poured. "Thank you," she offers then continues to explain as I return to the table to pour myself a glass then stretch out on the floor directly across from her. "Then there's the crowd, the cheers and catcalls…" She expounds as she casually tosses another of the magazines into the flames.

I'm feeling a bit ill now as the image of Laura on a bar in her all together before a club full of lechers appears in my head. I suppose when I've imagined that fan dance of hers in my mind there had only been an audience of one – and it wasn't the Jeffries chap.

"The cameras flashing. It's all—" I promptly choke on the sip of wine I've just taken.

"Are you alright?" she asks.

"Cameras?" I rasp, when I catch my breath. The thought had never crossed my mind. She actually laughs.

"There's a woman dancing on a bar in a tourist town, wearing nothing but a pair of small fans, Mr. Steele. _Of course_, there were cameras," she said in a tone that suggested it was silly to have even asked. "I imagine there are any number of pictures out there…" She gives me a pointed look. "The object of desire for every slobbering pervert, every sex starved Marine, every—" She lifts her hand to make the gesture I had in the Rabbit, but I quickly grab her wrist then turn her hand over and press my lips to her palm. That image, turned on me, is burned indelibly into my mind now.

"Point made, Miss Holt," I tell her as I sit up and lean in towards her, "And I applaud you on its presentation." She lifts her brows and gives me a smug look that leaves me laughing as I kiss her. When our lips part, with my hand still buried in her hair, I dare to ask the question. "Staying the night?"

"I'm considering it." I lean in again.

"Then I suppose I'll have to convince you…"


End file.
